


Molly's Last Days

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Illness and death, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:52:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: At the end of the day, Molly is still thinking about Sherlock Holmes.





	

                The silence was interspersed with beeps, so cadenced that they were like an electronic heartbeat. At intervals a soft-footed nurse would enter the room and make small adjustments to the covers, check the display on the various machines and lean over the bed’s occupant.

                “Miss Hooper? Are you alright, dear?”

                She never answered of course. Dementia, old age and impending death had stolen her voice. Inside, somewhere deep down, there remained enough of Molly Hooper as she had been for her to try desperately to speak. Nothing ever came out, however, aside from moans and grunting noises. This always led the nurse to adjust her pain medication, and after a few minutes she would drift deliciously into a dream. _I can see why Sherlock liked morphine_ , Molly always thought hazily. Her frustration at being ignored and misunderstood melted in the wake of the increased dosage.

                Days passed, or maybe only minutes. It was hard to tell. The light never changed in her room, the curtains were always closed and there was no clock. Molly sometimes woke from a drug-induced sleep with a confused feeling that she had overslept and was due in the lab. At times she remembered that she no longer worked at St. Bart’s; that in fact she had been retired for years. Other times she panicked at the thought of being late and would struggle to get out of bed.

                After she fell—shock muffled the first wave of pain, and morphine took care of the ache that followed—they restrained her. This made the panic worse and the doctor came and prescribed more medicine. The haze grew deeper, and it was rare that she woke fully. When she did, Molly was so lethargic that she couldn’t summon much energy to fight her restraints, but she still struggled to speak. They never understood her and when she began crying the nurses made soothing noises that failed to soothe, and patted her shoulder as gently as if she were an egg.

                No one could help her, they didn’t understand and she wept piteously, weak tears rolling down her temples to wet her pillow.

                “God, I hope I never get old,” one of the junior nurses whispered. “Can you imagine being old and wrinkled and stuck in a bed?”

                “Hush, she’ll hear you.”

                “Oh c’mon, she’s completely out of it!”

                “Poor thing, she’s crying again. It’s too bad she has no family to visit.”

                “Never married?”

                “No, no kids either. No visitors since I’ve been here.”

                “Bloody hell, that’s depressing.”

                _I have family_ , Molly thought in annoyance, her mouth trying to purse and form words. _I have friends_ …

                Where were they?

                “She’s getting agitated again, adjust her morphine. Miss Hooper? We’re going to give you something to help you sleep, dear. Just rest.”

                Just rest; as if she had any choice.

                Another day. Or was it the same one? She couldn’t even keep time by meals now, they had her on some sort of a tube. She’d pull the bothersome thing out if only her hands were free. It was awful, stuck like this. She couldn’t even scratch her nose because of those sodding restraints. Why did your nose always itch when your hands were occupied? When she was doing PMs it always seemed like suddenly her nose would itch. Funny…

                “It won’t be much longer, a few weeks at the most. She’s fading. Increase the drip, nurse, and call me if anything changes. Does she have any family?”

                “None, sir, as far as I know. Never any visitors in the two years I’ve been working here.”

                “Who’s that in the photo on her bedside table? A son?”

                _Turn it so I can see_ , Molly shouted in agitation, _the silly woman who cleaned my room has it angled away. Turn it so I can see his face_. They ignored her. Honestly, the staff at this place…

                “No idea, sir.”

                “Check her file and see if there’s any emergency contact. Her advance directives were clear, and we’re following them, but it’s better to make sure we’re covered, just in case there _is_ family and they object.”

                _I have family_ , Molly said. No one paid her any mind. No wonder they kept her drugged, they didn’t want to be bothered.

                Another uneasy sleep. Her dreams were strangely vivid, much more colorful and realistic than her waking hours. Sleep was getting harder to achieve, and yet she craved it. When she slept, sometimes Sherlock would come to her. He was so lovely and young and just seeing him filled her with happiness so exquisite that Molly felt like she could float out of the bed and clear up to the heavens. She didn’t mind so much now when they increased her drip. _Yes_ , she thought sleepily, _let me sleep. When I sleep he comes_ …

                “Aunt Molly?”

                Who was this woman with the lined face and the familiar smile?

                “Aunt Molly, it’s me, Rosie. Do you remember me, dear?” The smile was turning anxious. “Doctor, is she aware of her surroundings at all?”

                “It’s hard to say, at this point. Her dementia has worsened, and given the various medications we have her on, Miss Hooper more than likely is not aware of what is going on.”

                “Oh my God, how sad…I feel awful, I live in the States and my husband has cancer. All my time has been taken up with him. I didn’t realize she had gone downhill so much.”

                “At her age it’s understandable, the body gets tired of fighting.”

                They kept talking about her as if she weren’t there, and Molly closed her eyes. When she opened them again the room seemed darker and she slowly became aware that she wasn’t alone. Craning her head she saw Rosie in a visitor’s chair, neck at an awkward angle as she slept. Funny that she was watching over Molly now, when so often it had been Molly that had watched over her.

                Growing tired of waiting for her god-daughter to wake, Molly drifted back to sleep.

                “…I’m her only family. Well, she’s my god-mother, she’s not any relation. But after my mother died she helped raise me. My father and my god-father were wonderful, but not exactly dependable. Aunt Molly was so sweet, she was there for every birthday, she taught me how to ride a bike, and put on make-up and she took me shopping. She was there at my wedding.” Rosie’s voice broke and Molly reached to comfort her, but was unable to move. What? Oh, those damned restraints. Ridiculous really, she was too weak to move, yet they still tied her up like a wild horse.

                “She never married?”

                _No, I never did_ , Molly thought waspishly, _I had my chance and I wish people would remember that_ I _ended the engagement_. _Don’t pity_ me.

                “Never. She was devoted to my god-father; I think that if he had ever noticed her she would have been over the moon. But Uncle Sherlock was married to his work.”

                “That’s too bad.”

                Who was this that was talking about Molly in a pitying tone, as if she weren’t even present? Oh, that older nurse, the one who was always so treacly sweet when she talked to Molly, as if she were a simple minded old woman. As if she hadn’t a mind trapped inside her failing body. _Just wait until you get old_ , Molly thought.

                “This is his picture,” Rosie picked up the framed photograph on the bedside table and Molly grunted, trying to force out words. _Turn it so I can see_ , she tried desperately, feeling her face grow hot with the effort.

                Rosie dropped the frame with a clatter and Molly wanted to scream. “Aunt Molly? Are you okay?”

                “Step back, Mrs. Clarence. Let me see…”

                _The picture_ , Molly wept, _I want to see his face_. The nurse leaned over the bed, obscuring her view of the room. “Miss Hooper, are you alright dear?”

                They kept asking that as if she would suddenly be able to speak, to assure them that of course she was fine. _I’m dying_ , Molly thought in irritation. _Leave me alone_.

                “Let me just adjust your drip, Miss Hooper. There we go. You get some rest, there’s no need to agitate yourself. Your niece is here.” The nurse stepped back and Rosie took her place, smiling mask failing to entirely cover her worry. _Your father used to look like that_ , Molly wanted to tell her.

                “Just rest, Aunt Molly. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” Rosie smoothed her hair, cupped her cheek. That was nice. No one ever touched her anymore, except to clean her and poke her with needles, and move her in and out of her bed. Molly closed her eyes, but then opened them in a panic. No, she needed to get Rosie to understand! _Turn the picture_ , she tried, groaning hard, eyes watering.

                Even as they fussed over her, Molly fought off the encroaching sleepiness. Damn their drugs! Her hand scrabbled at the covers and Rosie put her fingers in hers, “It’s alright, darling, I’m here, you’re not alone.”

                Molly summoned her strength, squeezing with all her might, and tried again to ask for Sherlock’s picture to be turned, but all that came out was a shhhhhh sound.

                “Yes, darling Aunt Molly,” Rosie sniffled, “You just shhh it’s okay. I won’t leave you. Just rest, dear.”

                “Shhhh!” Molly hissed, “errrrrr!” Rosie’s face was pinched with worry but Molly didn’t care. She was running out of time and these fools were useless. _Thank goodness Sherlock never had to go through this_ , she thought, _he’d have exploded from frustration_. “Lllllll….” Desperately she turned her eyes to the bedside table, and then looked back at Rosie, eyes wide with distress. “K.” Exhausted, her tongue popped out the hard k sound and she wilted back on her pillows.

                Rosie’s eyes widened, “Aunt Molly…? Are you? Here, do you want this?” Turning the frame, she adjusted the picture so that Molly could see the photograph. She helped Molly turn her head on the pillow, so her cheek and neck were comfortably supported, and she could gaze at long last on his beloved face.

                _Thank you_ , Molly said in exhaustion.

                Her eyes wanted to close, but she fought the cocktail of drugs the doctor had ordered for her, happy to finally be able to see her Sherlock’s beautiful face once more.

                “My God,” the nurse exclaimed, “I haven’t heard her talk in months! That was amazing.”

                “She always did love him,” Rosie sounded tearful, but Molly had no time for her. Sherlock, smiling slightly, was returning her regard. “This picture was taken at my tenth birthday party, I remember he was in such a good mood, and dad snapped this picture of the two of them.”

                _It was a lovely day_ , Molly told her, eyes still on the picture. Sherlock had his arm thrown casually around her shoulders and was looking into the camera, a half smile on his lips, his eyes the color of sea glass. Molly was looking up at him, her face rapt. _The loveliest_.

                “He’s very handsome.”

                “He died a few months later,” Rosie was crying now, “He wasn’t even fifty.”

                “I’m so sorry,” The nurse sounded apologetic, “Was it a heart attack?”

                “Drug overdose. Dad found him sitting in his old chair. I didn’t know until years later, when dad was dying, but he said Uncle Sherlock was smiling as if he were thinking of something lovely.” Rosie let go of Molly’s hand and blew her nose, “I always wondered what it was he was thinking.”

                _The pain was over_ , Molly told her, eyes still on Sherlock’s smile. _The uproar in his mind was quiet at last_.

                The nurse patted Rosie on the shoulder and left the room. Rosie composed herself and took Molly’s hand in hers. Molly blinked hard, trying not to fall asleep. Not just yet, not now that she could see him.

                “Go to sleep, Aunt Molly,” Rosie whispered, leaning over the bed and kissing her cheek tenderly. “I promise you’ll see him again.”

                Darkness, soft quiet. The beeping was almost soothing. There was something on her face and Molly was aware of a steady whooshing sound.

                Light, footsteps, murmuring voices. Sherlock’s beautiful smiling face. She could look her fill now.

                Rosie came and went. The nurses changed. The doctor might have been there. Molly was getting confused now but whenever it all seemed like too much, she looked into Sherlock’s eyes and found peace. _I’m coming, my love_ , she thought, smiling at him. _Soon_.

               

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I don't know why I wrote this, except that I couldn't stop thinking about it and I finally had to get it out. Sorry for the sad and depressing tone.


End file.
